Gogol Bordello in Blacksburg

First off, greetings from Bellevue, Washington! I’m on another trip. This explains why I didn’t enthusiatically report about the Gogol Bordello concert earlier– the very next day I was flying out to the great Pacific Northwest. Anyway, it is very simple to sum up the concert:

AWESOME!!!!!

And a couple of little tidbits.

Gogol Bordello is Harder to Photograph Than BabiesAaron Evans is a talented photographer. I already knew that and his Flickr photos provide plenty of proof. But now I have another reminder of Aaron’s photographing prowess. His Gogol Bordello pictures are far superior to mine. Even though I specifically staked out a railing to keep my camera steady, those dang musicians moved around so much, most of my shots were still blurry. Anyway, not since little baby Ali, have I had such trouble getting the shot I wanted.That blur on the far left is supposed to be Eugene HutzHere is Eugene Hutz when he is actually still

Commanding ViolinistFor those of you not familiar with the band, two prominent instruments are the accordian and the violin. Everything about the band is energizing, but it was the violinist, Sergey Ryabtsev, who really commanded the crowd. With each song, the crowd was always in motion. And when the violin started– that’s when the frenzied jumping would begin. A Russian immigrant and his violin– not what you would expect to drive this demographic of concert-goers insane. Sergey’s power does come with a cost. That poor bow of his got more and more tattered with each song.

Gogol Bordello is Better Than HawaiiMy brother, Jay, works on a cruise ship in Hawaii. So he spends months at a time circulating the Hawaiin islands and he seems to take a lot of joy in taunting me via cell phone by sending along weather updates and pictures of beautiful mountains. Well finally, the tables are turned!!! I sent him a picture from the concert andmy brother sent back a brief reply:

“im jealous”

Ha, ha! Someone in Hawaii is jealous of *ME*.

Ass Cracks Welcome
I wore low-rider jeans that night. The times I went into the crowd my wardrobe choice was troublesome. With all the jumping and dancing and escalating energy, I often felt my pants starting to slide down. So in the vicinity of moshers, I had to allocate one of my key defense resources to reach back and yank my pants back into place.

“This is the last time I’m wearing these jeans to a concert,” I thought.

And then I noticed Eugene Hutz. His pants posed a similiar predictament and his butt crack was readily visible.